


Under the Pink

by flecksofpoppy



Series: A Little Faith-verse Companion Pieces [9]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A Little Faith-verse, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, PWP, Sex Positive, Sex Toys, kink positive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:57:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2196123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Valentine's Day, and Marco has brought home something pink that isn't a valentine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Pink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shingekinoboyfriends](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingekinoboyfriends/gifts).



> I have no excuse for this. I am going on a world tour in the garbage truck.
> 
> I am also fully aware that I deserve to be shot for this title.

Valentine’s Day—the most so-called “romantic” day of the entire year—is today, and Jean is not happy about it.

To be more accurate: Jean is fucking clueless about it, regardless of the fact he’s been dating someone for more than two years now. And not only “some” one, but who he knows is “The One,” at least for him.

He groans to himself as he shoves his hands in his pockets, walking slowly down the city street. Even though he’s been living in Sina for nearly six months now, he’s still not used to it. It’s nice, but Trost is grittier, and he’s always preferred that. 

Then again, even though Sina is a lot fancier than he’s used to, he actually likes walking down the street with Marco. They even hold hands—the amount of fucks Marco seems to give about what other people think rivals even Jean in this regard—and they stop and do cheesy things, like look in shop windows and talk about the future.

Jean loves every corny, goddamn minute of this charmed new life, even though he’ll never admit it out loud. Marco knows it, too. 

He stops now to look in a large shop window. It’s one of the biggest, most lavish department stores in Sina, and there’s an elaborate display specifically for this day—a female mannequin in bright pink lingerie and hearts _everywhere_.

He scowls at the mannequin as if she can see him; wrong gender, wrong day. He’s not good at this; but he wants to be, because he suspects that Marco might like it.

Jean sighs gustily and returns to shuffling his way home. His new job at Sina Music isn’t exactly the same as his old one—especially since he’s starting as a retail associate—but it could be worse. He could be working in the women’s lingerie department, and given certain parts of his sexual history, he’d be answering everyone’s questions the wrong way, too. 

He can picture it now with a shudder: _No, I don’t know what the hell what your boyfriend wants you to wear. The only person I’ve ever fucked in lingerie was a guy, while his boyfriend watched._

Yes, he thinks sticking with music stores is generally a good move. 

He at least made Marco a mix CD that includes good sex songs _and_ some lovey-dovey stuff, as well as one Smiths song right at the end, since he knows Marco will like that.

But now, on his walk home, he’s not sure it’s enough. He’s actually starting to feel a little inadequate as he continues to pass all the fancy shops, and opts instead to look at the sidewalk. Which, true to Sina’s status, has no cracks.

It’s all a little claustrophobic without Marco.

Damn it, Marco deserves something special for fucking Valentine’s Day. Because he’s Marco.

Jean frowns to himself as he finally reaches their building. It’s actually a humble second floor of a house on a small side street, and he loves living there. It’s the first place that’s felt like home since he lived with his mother, and even then, all he could ever think about was getting away.

As he climbs the rickety stairs of the old house to their door, he finds himself immediately relaxing—smiling a little even—as he fumbles with his keys to and jiggles the lock to get the door open.

Kicking off his shoes and depositing them onto the welcome mat, he calls Marco’s name, but gets no response.

Marco obviously isn’t home yet, probably still stuck in the library studying for one of his intensive courses on some subject Jean can’t even remember the name of. 

Jean looks around the apartment, trying to figure out something he can offer that’s better than just his mix CD. 

Everything is clean—the couch is vacuumed, the floor is swept, even the kitchen is sparkling.

Jean looks at the plants on the window after a moment, grabbing the watering can.

Flowers? No, too girly. ... Or are they? Would Marco like hearts? Or flowers? 

Jean is staring out the window, chewing his lip as he thinks, growing increasingly panicked. 

What if Marco is _expecting_ flowers? What if he thinks he’s going to come home to a candlelit dinner? What if—

“ _Fuck,_ ” Jean bites out as the pot he’s watering overflows and drips down the side of the window sill. 

He grabs the small pot, cupping his hand under it, and dashes across the room to let it drain into the sink. These plants are the only ones in his entire life that he hasn’t killed, and he’s determined to grow them with Marco.

Grumbling at his own carelessness, he retrieves the roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter and goes about cleaning up the water all over the window sill and floor.

Well, he’s apparently fucked up this Valentine’s Day since all Marco is coming home to is a nearly-drowned plant, a mediocre mix CD, and nothing else.

Jean purses his lips and wonders if he should at least order Marco’s favorite takeout, when he hears a set of keys jingling in the lock.

He cringes at the wad of wet paper towels lying on the floor and the sad looking plant in the sink, and then a dark pair of eyes are staring at him in surprise as Marco stands in the doorway. He’s got two bags, and much to Jean’s dismay, one of them is holding something that appears to be bright pink.

Fuck. Marco got him something.

“Hi,” Jean waves, smiling weakly. “Welcome home.”

Marco just gives him one of those goddamn radiant smiles that still makes Jean’s knees go weak. He looks tired, but happy to be home.

“Ugh,” he groans with a sigh, “you’re a sight for sore eyes. What a day.”

Jean pads over to him and helps him take off his coat, although, interestingly, Marco keeps a careful hold on the bag with the mystery pink item in it.

He smiles as he takes Marco’s coat, hanging it up, and then envelopes Marco is a tight hug, nuzzling at his neck.

“Missed you,” he says quietly, blushing slightly. He feels simultaneously ridiculous and absolutely ecstatic.

“I know, we’ve been apart a whole eight hours,” Marco laughs, immediately turning the embrace.

They just stand there for a minute, until Marco turns his head to kiss Jean’s hair and murmurs, “Missed you, too.”

Jean sighs happily, and then pulls away, his worries about the impending Valentine’s Day disaster momentarily forgotten.

Marco is still smiling at him, and Jean immediately looks at the floor, feeling bashful.

“Um,” he mumbles, the smile slowly waning, “so... Valentine’s Day. I didn’t get you anything.”

He doesn’t look up, immediately feeling worse than he probably should; it’s not like he killed their plants or something.

Well, almost. But he didn’t.

“I mean,” he corrects, still staring at the floor, “I did. You know,” his mouth quirks ever so slightly, “I made you a mix CD, like I always do. But...”

“Jean,” Marco interrupts. He’s suddenly standing there right in front of Jean, and Jean blinks in surprise to see that Marco’s still smiling.

“I got us both something, but it’s for after dinner.”

Jean heaves a sigh of relief, but then raises an eyebrow. “Both of us?” he echoes curiously.

Marco shoots a look down at the pink thing in the bag, and Jean tilts his head to the side in confusion.

“Um, lingerie?”

Marco starts to laugh, moving away to put both bags down and kick off his shoes, too.

“No,” he says definitively, but doesn’t explain. “You have to wait.”

“I have to wait?” he prompts, smirking a little at Marco.

Marco’s already expecting it as he makes his way back over to Jean, pulls him close, and gives him a light smack on the ass.

“Yes,” he says simply, pulling Jean’s t-shirt up slightly to smooth his hands over the small of Jean’s back. “So, can we order from—”

“The place that the people from Jinae own?” Jean laughs, resting his head against Marco’s shoulder. “Yeah. I already know where the menu is. And I think I already know what you want.”

“Dum—”

“Potato dumplings in beef broth with the special seasonings,” Jean finishes. “I know.”

Marco kisses his forehead, and Jean just looks at him for a moment. 

Marco’s tired with little lines around his eyes, but his cheeks are dotted with those freckles which make him look no more than a day over twelve. His eyes are still dark and calm—almost like a deer—and he’s staring at Jean with such intensity suddenly, Jean can barely swallow.

“What?” he asks softly.

Marco just smiles a little and pecks a kiss against Jean’s lips.

“You,” he says simply. “Worrying about Valentine’s Day. I thought you hated stuff like this.”

Jean shuffles his feet against the hardwood floor which is cold through a hole in his sock, so he pushes his thigh against Marco’s, reveling in the body heat.

“I don’t hate it,” he grumbles after a minute. “I’m just not good at it.”

“You don’t need to be good at anything except being you,” Marco replies immediately. “But...” he grins a little, tipping Jean’s face up. “I think you’ll like the gift.”

“It’s pink,” Jean deadpans. “Is it a Britney Spears record?”

“Yes,” Marco deadpans back. “Actually, it’s her outfit from that one music video. I’m dressing up in it for you.”

Jean swears he doesn’t mean for his eyes to light up at that, but the way Marco starts hysterically laughing, it hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“Maybe another time,” Marco says after he’s caught his breath.

Jean grabs him more aggressively, switching their positions to walk Marco back toward the wall and then push him against it. Jean presses their bodies together, and Marco lets out a gasp.

“You could wear a Britney Spears outfit, a polo shirt, or my Smiths t-shirt, and you’d still be hot as fuck,” he growls. He’s proud of himself for his own bravery; normally, Jean isn’t so good at taking the initiative before sex is involved.

He can tell Marco agrees, because he lets out a surprised, delighted moan.

“Fuck,” he groans, his fingers immediately finding Jean’s hair.

Jean fights to pull himself away, knowing they’ll never eat at this rate, and Marco lets out a disappointed sound.

“Eat first,” he says with a cocky grin, “sexy later.”

“You’ve never turned down sex for food,” Marco remarks, raising his eyebrow playfully.

“You need to eat,” Jean replies immediately, pointing his finger at Marco and feeling very much like a mother hen. He shakes his finger for emphasis, and Marco laughs.

“All right,” he agrees. “You call for my dumplings and your sandwich, and I’ll get changed.”

“Oh, I’ll get your dumplings all right,” Jean agrees, nodding his head with a lecherous smirk.

“Jean, I don’t even know what that means.”

Jean makes a desperate face and practically whines. “Neither do I,” he groans. “I’m just starving, and I had to deal with the most annoying little shits today.”

“I had to read about Aristotle.”

“You win.”

“I don’t know, Aristotle was kind of an annoying little shit, too.”

“Marco, go get changed.”

The takeout food comes relatively quickly, and Marco lets out an orgasm-worthy moan as he settles in with his favorite meal and Jean curled up at his side, munching on a sandwich.

“This,” he says, tilting his head momentarily to rub his cheek against Jean’s hair, “is heaven.”

Jean lets out an embarrassed snort, but doesn’t disagree. The couch is comfortable, Marco is warm and smells like home, and the food is good.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” he murmurs, his face heating. “Um, and stuff.”

Marco laughs quietly in his throat, leaning forward to put his empty bowl on the coffee table so he can put his arm around Jean.

“So,” he says, “I got something.”

“It’s pink,” Jean replies, nodding and chewing.

“I thought it was... Valentinesy.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Jean repeats softly, leaning forward as he finishes to set his plate next to Marco’s.

“I told you,” Marco replies easily, “it’s for both of us. And I think you’re going to like it.”

And with that, he turns to pull Jean onto his lap and press a slow, tender kiss against his lips. Jean sighs as his fingers immediately rise to tangle in Marco’s soft hair.

“Let’s wash up, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” Jean agrees. Before any fun things happen, he needs a shower and a little Marco-not-wearing-clothes time.

They do this almost every evening they’re home at the same time—eat dinner, strip off, and then shower together, which is followed by whatever they both feel up for.

Life is tiring, but it hasn’t caught up to either of them yet; not when they’re together.

“So,” Jean starts as he throws his jeans onto the bed, smiling a little as Marco just watches appreciatively, “is the pink thing something fun for the shower?”

“No,” Marco laughs, starting to shuck off his clothes after a little leering.

Jean offers up a puzzled expression, but follows Marco into the bathroom.

Jean knows he should be thinking about romance and how to make things special for Marco when they go back into the bedroom, but the hot water is so blissful that all Jean can think about is feeling clean and Marco’s skin.

They’re quick about it, and Jean is starting to grow increasingly curious about the pink item in the bag. 

What could Marco possibly be buying that could be for both of them, on Valentine’s Day, in an electric hue of pink?

Jean’s first guess would be lingerie—a little kinky for Marco to begin with—which has already proven to be wrong.

Marco is grinning at him as he towels off, and clears the mirror, looking over Jean’s shoulder affectionately.

“We look good together,” he blurts out, and then colors a little at his own candid statement. “I mean...”

“Yeah, we do,” Jean agrees immediately, reaching over his shoulder to lace his fingers with Marco’s. “This is great. Holidays are stupid,” he continues softly, “but with you, they’re... kind of fun.”

“Don’t worry,” Marco reassures him mysteriously, “it will be. I promise.” He gives one of those endearing, boyish grins that makes Jean’s heart jump into his throat, and he smiles in return.

“You know, um,” he remarks suddenly as he grabs his toothbrush which is sitting next to Marco’s in the cup, “when I was trying to convince myself to... tell you how I felt...” He clears his throat awkwardly, squeezing too much toothpaste out onto the brush. “I talked to myself in the mirror for like, half an hour.”

Marco starts to laugh and wraps both arms around Jean from behind, kissing his neck and grabbing the toothbrush.

“This is why we run out of this so quickly,” he remarks, giving a joking roll of his eyes and reapplying the toothpaste that’s managed to make its way into the basin and not leave a trace on Jean’s toothbrush.

He pops the toothbrush into Jean’s half-open mouth, grinning, and kisses his forehead.

Marco is downright bouncy this evening.

“Don’t come out right away, okay?” he says, as Jean starts to brush his teeth. “Wait five minutes, and then come out.”

Jean shrugs, and makes an affirmative sound. He finishes his routine, and then just looks at himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t look so different than he did a year ago, trying to talk himself into saying, _Marco, I’m in love with you._

He does remember the anxiety, though, and he suddenly has the urge confirm that all of this is real.

“Marco,” he calls through the door, trying not to sound odd, “just so you know, I’m in love with you.”

“I love you, too, Jean!” Marco calls back. “Just gimme like another minute.”

Jean smiles at his own reflection in satisfaction, pointing, as if to say, “I told you so.”

“See?” he says with a shake of his head. “And you were so fucking worried, you big wuss.” 

He hears some shuffling in their bedroom, and raises an eyebrow.

He shifts into his typical stance—hip cocked and arms crossed, slouching a little—and shoots his reflection a side eye.

“I mean,” he continues grudgingly, “it’s not like I’m a terrible boyfriend for not doing anything special.”

He cringes, afraid to look at himself, deciding to stare at the damp towels hanging over the shower rail; he has never been very forgiving of himself, though, and eventually he catches his own eye.

“What?” he demands, pointing at his reflection. “Marco isn’t unhappy, right?” He bites his lip, looking at himself as if seeking input. “I mean—”

“Jean,” Marco says through the door, “are you talking to yourself?”

“No!” Jean calls back, clamping his mouth shut. 

Marco knows damn well he’s talking to himself.

“Okay! You can come out!” Marco’s voice is excited, and Jean is finally distracted from his own neuroses as he opens the bathroom door that’s adjacent to their bedroom.

Marco... well, Marco is the first thing he sees, because Marco is currently spread out on their bed wearing absolutely nothing, his knees bent up and parted almost obscenely.

Marco is not the obscene type; but right now, he’s putting it all on display for Jean.

There’s a slightly nervous tremor in his voice as he coughs out, “Do you like what you see?”

A very un-Marco-like question to ask. It’s almost... dirty.

“Fuck, yes,” Jean breathes, staring at Marco from head to toe. He’s even more irresistible now because he’s flushed and panting, his skin smooth and sprinkled with those freckles Jean loves so much. 

Marco’s face is _burning_ as he spreads his legs a little further apart, biting his lip, his eyelids lowered slightly as he exposes himself to Jean.

“What do you want to do to me?” he asks in a soft voice.

Jean almost chokes on his tongue, and his eyes are wide. “Um,” he replies dumbly, his mouth opening and closing.

“This isn’t really like you,” he finally blurts out. Then, he has to fight to not slap himself in the face for ruining the moment.

Marco takes it in stride, though, as always, and he laughs nervously.

“Um,” he says, pointing timidly to his right, “there are two things I want for Valentine’s Day.”

Jean wasn’t sure his eyes could get any wider, but he knows now they can. 

Staring up at him is a not-of-negligible-length pink jelly cock, with a condom already on it, as if just waiting for...

“Wow,” he breathes, “um... I mean, wow.”

“I thought you liked a little kink,” Marco says softly, and then Jean realizes much to his chagrin that he’s hurt Marco’s feelings.

“No!” he exclaims, immediately walking over to sit down on the bed. “It’s not that... I’m just surprised. You really want to try it?”

Marco looks at ease again, and he gives a shy smile. “Yeah,” he says simply.

“Wait, what are the two things you want for Valentine’s Day?” Jean asks, suddenly remembering the statement as he smooths his hand reassuringly up Marco’s leg, leaning over to press a kiss against his hip.

“I want you to,” Marco coughs a little, but soldiers on, “fuck me with this. And I want you to... talk dirty to me.”

Jean just stares at him, but manages not to go completely slack-jawed.

“You want me to fuck _you_ with it?” he asks incredulously. So far, the only thing Marco’s taken up the ass is fingers; to be fair, though, he really likes that. “And...”

“Talk dirty,” Marco gives a firm nod, and it’s so much like a sincere boy scout pledge that Jean starts to laugh. He affectionately kisses Marco’s knee, and nods.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Condoms?”

Marco points to a few condoms on the bed, as well as a plentiful supply of lube.

“I already cleaned it, put the condom on, and did all that stuff,” he supplies helpfully. “I did research.”

“Of course you did,” Jean says, grinning. Marco wants him to take control; well, he can do that. Especially for Valentine’s Day, and _especially_ for Marco.

“Good,” he says, and then moves to push Marco’s knees back up and get between his legs.

The mattress bounces slightly as Jean situations himself, and he gives Marco what he knows is a downright lecherous smile. 

He’s acting more confident than he feels, but he knows Marco won’t hold it against him if everything doesn’t quite go according to plan. He hasn’t been in charge in a while, though.

“First,” he says softly, bending forward to kiss up Marco’s inner thighs, “I want you to get nice and wet and hard for me.”

Marco immediately responds with a gasp, and he arches his back; the line of his neck is taut, and his long, lean body seems to move with Jean’s very words. 

He reaches for the lube, but Jean already has it in his hand; he confidently drips some onto Marco’s cock, and gives a few strokes with his hand, twisting his fingers a little around the head where knows Marco is sensitive.

Marco gasps, and then takes over; the bed starts to make a racket as he starts to fuck his hand, and he moans. 

The room isn’t bright—Jean realizes after the fact that Marco’s even adjusted the lighting and it’s pleasantly dim—and the comforter is reassuring and familiar. It’s soft against Jean’s knees where he’s kneeling, just like Marco’s skin where his legs are currently spread loosely around Jean.

“Does that feel good? Fucking your hand?” Jean asks in a low voice.

“Yeah,” Marco moans, cracking his eye open to stare at Jean. “Fuck, Jean,” he breathes, stroking fast now. “Feels really good...” He’s losing himself quickly, and Jean feels his stomach jump. He loves when Marco gets like this.

“Is your hand nice and tight? Fucking it like you usually fuck me?” Jean growls out, turning his head to nip at Marco’s knee. 

“Uh huh,” he cries, nodding his head frantically as he ruts into his hand. “What else should I do?” he gasps. 

Jean reaches out to gently wrap his fingers around Marco’s fist and slow down the strokes; Marco gives a shuddery sigh, and obeys the change, his hips giving weak jerks.

“Now,” Jean says simply, letting go as Marco slowly fucks his own hand, “fuck yourself with your fingers.”

Marco’s eyes shoot open, and he blinks rapidly at Jean; they’re half-lidded and dark with lust, and Jean nods at him.

“O-okay,” Marco whispers, reaching for the lube as he pauses in stroking himself. 

“I want you to show me,” Jean says, grabbing the lube before Marco can get there and popping it open, “how you want me to fuck you with that cock.”

Marco holds out his hand, his entire body wound tight with arousal and practically quivering, as he waits for the lube.

“What do you say?” Jean asks, raising an eyebrow as he holds the lube out of reach.

Marco looks like he actually might lose his mind as his hand trembles.

“Please?” he gasps.

“Please, what?”

“ _Please_ let me have the lube,” Marco whines, starting to pant. “Let me fuck myself.”

Jean grins a little, and instead of heeding the request, pushes Marco’s legs apart to squeeze out a generous amount of lube onto his hole.

“Ah, Jean,” he moans, his back arching needily, “please touch me.”

Jean does Marco the courtesy of also putting the lube nearby in case he actually needs more, but he doesn’t fulfill Marco’s request.

“Not yet,” he cautions, moving away. Marco makes a desperate, broken sound as he loses all skin to skin contact as Jean crawls over to where the jelly cock is.

“Show me you deserve this,” he says, holding the toy up and looking at it, pretending not to notice the way Marco is staring at him with a desperate expression. “Fuck yourself like you mean it.” 

Marco obediently reaches between his own legs and starts to play with his ass, easing a fingertip in at first. He knows how this goes very well, because it’s one of his favorite bedroom activities, but he’s going a little faster than usual. His hands are clumsy, shaking even, and he can’t seem to keep them steady.

“Ah, fuck,” he hisses, his heavy cock slapping wetly against his stomach as he tries to bend the right way to angle his hand properly. He manages to get in the right position, though, and Jean immediately moves to the end of the bed to watch.

Marco is so different like this: his face—normally so calm and perceptive—twisted into a look of mingled agony and pleasure, his mouth hanging open as he pants, and his lips swollen from biting them.

Jean reaches down to stroke his own painfully hard cock as he watches Marco work his fingers into himself; it goes on long enough that he manages to get one that slides smoothly in and out, and then he’s outright fucking himself. His hips are shifting with his finger—which becomes two fingers—and he’s letting out little whimpers and moans. The bed is squeaking as his entire body moves, thrusting his fingers in and out of himself.

He opens his eyes suddenly, and he locks gazes with Jean.

“Jean,” he whispers, trying to breathe, “want you. _Please_.”

It’s almost a sob, and Jean nods, leaning forward to kiss his knee. “Good, Marco,” he says in soft praise, “are you ready to take this up your ass and like it? Are you going to fuck it good for me?”

“Yes,” Marco bites out, his voice strained and high-pitched, “yes, fuck, yes...”

Jean double checks the condom is secure over the jelly cock, and then lubes it up generously.

“Um,” Marco says softly, lying there and staring at Jean, “can I give you a blow job... and um... can you say something dirty about it?”

Jean gives a little surreal laugh as he finishes lubing up the toy, and smiles slightly. “Sure,” he nods. “Just tell me if you don’t like what I’m doing. Okay?”

Marco nods, and then the way he opens his mouth—so docile and willing and eager—shoots straight to Jean’s cock. 

He suddenly wants to fuck Marco out—fill him up from both ends, just the way he wants, give him what he’s asking for—something filthy, dirty, but also, just between them.

It occurs to Jean right then that Marco trusts him enough to do this, to ask for something like dirty talk, for a little kink; he feels a protective feeling well in him.

“Lie on your side,” he directs, letting Marco stretch out on the bed, mouth still open, as Jean lies down in the opposite direction. They end up with Marco’s head at one end, and Jean’s at the other, in front of each other’s cocks.

“Suck my cock,” Jean grits out as he pushes the toy against Marco’s entrance teasingly at the same time.

Marco’s voice around his cock is high and almost a whine, letting out little whimpers that become higher pitched as Jean slowly works the toy into him, patiently letting Marco’s body adjust. He watches in fascination as the bright pink cock—Happy Valentine’s Day indeed—slowly slides into Marco, and then he keeps a grip on it and pulls it back out.

Marco keens as Jean starts to fuck him with it, and then, just for good measure, takes Marco’s own cock into his mouth.

Jean has to give himself credit for at least pulling off some fancy maneuvering, and apparently Marco is enjoying it, because he’s pumping his cock enthusiastically into Jean’s mouth as much as Jean is fucking Marco’s mouth in return. The jelly cock is pumping in and out of Marco’s ass now, faster and harder than Jean thought he’d be able to take, and he can tell Marco is going to come.

He pulls back, waiting for it, and says in a low, gravelly voice just before Marco falls over the edge of the orgasm: “Come on my face when I fuck your ass, Marco.”

Marco doesn’t seem to have much choice in the matter, and Jean’s cock slips from his mouth as he practically screams, come spattering over Jean’s cheeks and the jelly cock still working hard in and out of his ass. Marco’s entire body shivers, and he groans long and hard and low as he finishes.

He’s panting, trying to catch his breath, and for a minute, he just lies there, shivering a little from the aftershock.

Jean slowly and carefully slides the toy out of Marco and sets it to the side to be cleaned. He rolls over to grab a tissue to wipe his face off, and then reverses his position to lie back down in front of Marco, their faces only inches apart, and Jean kisses him tenderly. 

Marco immediately cuddles closer, and he sounds happy and relaxed.

“Wow,” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to Jean’s clavicle. “That was...”

“You liked it?” Jean asks, pressing an affectionate kiss to the tip of Marco’s nose, smiling a little as their eyes meet. Marco nods, and kisses Jean’s cheek.

They lie there for a few more seconds, until Marco suddenly says quietly, “I have one more request.”

“What’s that?” Jean asks, his own erection starting to need attention lest he lose it.

“I want you to... top me,” Marco says clearly, his eyes serious. He says the word “top” like he’s not sure it’s the right term, and Jean blinks in surprise.

“Uh,” he replies uncertainly, raising an eyebrow and reaching up to brush sweat damp hair away from Marco’s face, “are you sure? Really sure? An actual dick is a little different than...”

“A cock made of jelly?”

“Point taken, but...”

Marco’s reaches between them to give Jean’s cock a few strokes. “Only if you want to,” he say cautiously, as if the thought just occurred to him that Jean might not want to.

“No, it’s not that!” Jean exclaims. The thought of topping Marco is fucking amazing, even if he prefers the other way. “I just... are you sure...”

“I’m sure,” Marco replies firmly, and without further discussion, pulls Jean on top of him as he rolls onto his back.

Jean blinks, but when he sees the look on Marco’s face, his own expression softens. “Yeah,” he agrees, nodding. “If you want it, I do, too.” 

And then, to Jean’s simultaneous amusement and disbelief, Marco looks at him and says with a completely straight face: “I want to do it dirty.”

Jean’s mouth opens and closes; then opens and closes again without words. Finally, he manages to blurt out, “Who are you, and what have you done with Marco Bodt?”

Marco laughs a little, and he nuzzles Jean’s cheek.

“I just... wanted to try some new things,” he murmurs with a slight shrug. “And then, when I bought that, um... toy, I realized... I wanted to try more than just a few things.”

Jean is relatively sure this moment beats any other moment in bed he’s ever had, except maybe his first night with Marco.

“Okay,” he whispers, his voice more gentle than he intended it to be. “That sounds awesome.” He presses a kiss to Marco’s mouth, and then starts to slowly frot against him.

The delicate, little gasp Marco gives just urges him on, until everything speeds up again and they’re both panting, rubbing against each other.

Marco’s arms are strong around Jean, hands splayed out against his shoulder blades, as their hips move together.

“You want to bend over and let me fuck you,” Jean whispers into his ear in a voice he hopes is sultry, rather than ridiculous.

Judging from the way Marco’s back arches sharply and the moan that comes out of his mouth, it’s the former.

“You want to take my cock on your hands and knees,” Jean murmurs, kissing Marco’s ear as they move against each other, their bodies jerky and less practiced now.

“Mhm,” Marco moans in a slurred hum.

Jean pulls away, and flips Marco over who happily gets on all fours, ass shamelessly stuck in the air with his legs parted.

Jean slicks his cock up and just stares at Marco’s legs, the jut of his hips, those freckles sprinkled everywhere, and his cock hanging between his legs.

And all Jean can think is: he’s beautiful. 

Jean presses a little kiss to the small of Marco’s back, and then curls over his back.

“Condom, or no condom?”

“None.”

“Okay,” Jean nods. Usually, when Marco fucks him, they use one, unless they’re feeling lazy or Jean is particularly keen on Marco coming inside of him that day. They’ve been monogamous for a while now and keep tabs on their own sexual health.

He smooths more lube over his cock, and then slicks his fingers up to see how Marco feels. As Jean slides a finger in slowly, he’s not quite as tight as usual, and he’s also relaxed.

Jean fingers him for a while, pushing at his prostate and making him shiver and moan, and then adds another. Marco takes it without much problem.

“Okay,” Jean whispers as he positions himself, cock in hand and nudging against Marco’s entrance, “you ready?”

“Yeah,” Marco whispers back.

“If it hurts, tell me,” Jean says sternly. “At all. I mean, if you feel a single twinge of pain, I don’t—”

Marco puts all his weight onto one hand and reaches up to squeeze Jean’s hand. “I will, Jean.”

Jean sighs, but then nods and kisses Marco’s shoulder as Marco’s hand drops back to the bed to support his body.

Jean is slow as he pushes into Marco, and it feels amazing. Marco is tight, hot, slick, and responsive. But the best part are the noises he makes—whimpers, sighs, gasps, and groans—as Jean goes deeper, and then, the way Marco’s hips nudge back in response.

He gives a short, hoarse cry as Jean gently reaches down to stroke his cock—which is starting to reawaken—and starts to fuck him in a slow, careful rhythm.

“Jean,” Marco gasps, his entire body rocking with Jean’s, “Jean, feels good.”

“You like my cock up your ass?” Jean growls into Marco’s ear, nipping at his shoulder. “You like the way that feels when I fuck you?”

Jean is getting less gentle now, but Marco only urges him on, until Jean has him pressed face down on the bed, fucking him outright with harsh jerks of his hips.

The entire mattress is shaking and creaking, and their headboard is starting to thump against the wall; Jean could care less, because all he can hear right now is Marco’s little moans and encouragements, the feeling of that long, lean reassuring body under his—completely at his mercy—and the feeling of the person he loves most in the world squeezing around his cock.

When he comes, he shudders; he collapses against Marco’s back as he orgasms, overwhelmed by the fact that he’s coming inside of Marco—that Marco wanted it that way.

Afterward, they just lie like that for a minute, and Jean doesn’t pull out immediately. He reaches around to take Marco’s hand and squeeze, and Marco squeezes back.

Finally, he slowly slides out and collapses next to Marco on the bed, pulling him close. 

Marco’s face is pressed against Jean’s chest, and he slowly catches his breath.

“You want me to take care of that?” Jean asks, referring to Marco’s cock.

“Not right now,” he says dreamily. “I don’t even know if I could again right now.” He sighs again, and curls against Jean needily.

“Will you put your arms around me?” he asks softly.

Jean pulls him closer and kisses his hair. He listens to Marco breathe quietly—smells his hair and skin, the sweat that’s beaded across his back, and the way one of his legs is absently smoothing along Jean’s.

“I love you,” Jean murmurs. Finally, Marco pulls back and focuses on Jean, smiling a little.

“That was the best Valentine’s Day gift I’ve ever gotten,” he murmurs, pressing a few slow, sweet kisses to Jean’s chest. “Thank you, Jean. And I love you, too.”

“What else have you gotten?” Jean asks curiously, moving to grab a tissue next to the bed to clean them both up rudimentarily.

“Um, a paper valentine in fifth grade that had my school’s logo on it.”

“Suck,” Jean immediately scoffs.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Jean laughs, and then pulls Marco up with him so they can get under the covers.

They climb in together, and Marco immediately settles against Jean again as Jean reaches over to switch off the light.

Just as Marco’s halfway into his first snore, Jean suddenly asks, “Why pink?”

Marco just laughs softly, and retorts with, “Why not?”

“Um...”

“Britney would like it.”

Jean groans and shakes his head. “Boner killer, Marco.”

“I think we’re out of boners tonight,” Marco laughs, pulling Jean closer and wrapping an arm around his torso. “Go to sleep. I cleared tomorrow morning so I can make you breakfast.”

“You did?” Jean asks softly, almost resenting the vulnerable, touched tone in his voice, but not quite enough to hide it. It’s Marco, after all.

“Yeah,” Marco sighs, half-asleep again. “Hey, where’s my mix CD, anyway?”

Jean fights down the slight lump in this throat that Marco remembered. “In the living room,” he answers softly, tightening his arms around Marco. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jean.”


End file.
